


can you hear my heartbeat (it pounds on just like a drum)

by badritual



Series: Author's Favorites [23]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Allegory, Dark Fantasy, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual
Summary: James McCann comes back from the disabled list different.





	can you hear my heartbeat (it pounds on just like a drum)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> Written for [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/)'s prompt at the [good baseball boys ficathon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer/): _James goes on the DL, but he comes back different. José knows it sounds weird, even to himself, but it's like it's not James at all..._
> 
> Happy belated birthday [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/)!!!!!!
> 
> I was gonna include some porn at the end there but [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/) said it didn't need it so blame her. 
> 
> Title from "Extraordinary Love," by Erika Wennerstrom.

James McCann comes back from the disabled list different. It’s nothing José can quite put his finger on, but there’s just something _off_ about him and everyone he tries to talk to about it just laughs him off. They just think he’s trying to be silly or something, but he’s not. He’s being one-hundred percent serious. 

Something is wrong with James and no one but José cares. 

Oh, he still _looks_ like himself—tall and broad, blue eyes as sharp as knives—but it’s as if the image of James has started to fade and curl in at the edges like an ancient photograph. He looks hazy, incorporeal and wispy, almost like a ghost. 

José just can’t explain why everything about James feels so _off_ since he came back. 

When he tries to bring it up to Nick in the clubhouse after the game, Nick doesn’t want to hear it. He’s got his fiancée and kid waiting for him and he doesn’t have time for José’s _kooky conspiracy theories_ , as he calls them.

“Not conspiracy theories,” José mutters, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout.

Nick just rolls his eyes at him. “This’s the kind of shit you’d find on InfoWars. Right next to the stories about lizard people,” he says as he dresses in front of his locker. 

José makes a face. He has no idea what lizard people have to do with anything. “But don’t you _feel_ it?” he asks, his gaze darting about the clubhouse until his eyes land on James’s locker. A chill runs down his spine as he stares at the plaid shirts that dangle lifelessly from plastic hangers. 

Nick raises his head and looks up at the ceiling. “I feel like I’m gonna keep ignoring your nutty conspiracy theories. How about that?”

José frowns. “I’m _right_. I know I’m right. Something’s wrong with Mac.”

Nick just blows him off and goes back to whatever it is he was doing. José realizes he’s not going to get anywhere with him, so he decides to shelve his concerns for now. 

Maybe José’s just overreacting. Maybe there’s something going on at home that José doesn’t know about. 

Nick leaves shortly after, giving José a light shove in the shoulder on his way out as if to remind José not to worry about James.

Easier said than done. José’s always been a nosy, overly curious sort. 

He finishes dressing and heads out a little while later. He passes by a couple teammates and exchanges handshakes and back-slapping manly hugs with them before going to the parking structure.

José’s almost to his car when he hears the scrape of concrete and the slow shuffle of footsteps, indicating he’s no longer alone. But when he looks up he doesn’t see anyone.

Frowning, José pulls his key fob out of his pocket and clenches them in his fist. His heart patters nervously in his chest and his throat tightens and his mouth goes dry. 

Long, shifting shadows splay across the walls surrounding him, but he still doesn’t hear anything.

José hurries a little faster to his car and grasps the handle, tugging, before remembering he locked it up when he came in that afternoon. José fumbles with the key fob for the right key, jamming it into the lock. 

He feels so unsettled now and not entirely sure why. He almost feels like… 

Hot, damp breath skitters down the back of his neck, into the collar of his shirt, and José shivers. He whirls around, raising the keys like a weapon, but there’s nobody there. He reaches back and rubs at the back of his neck, his stomach squirming uncomfortably like worms in freshly turned dirt.

“W—who’s there?” he calls out, his voice trembling. 

The shadows that stretch across the wall opposite him seem to reach out for him, claws extended. But they give no answer. 

José turns and quickly unlocks the car, hopping in and pulling the door shut behind him. He starts the engine and throws the car into reverse, tires screeching on damp concrete. 

There’s a chill to the stale air that freezes José to his core, and when he breathes out, he can see it pouring out like billows of smoke.

José peels out of the lot, stopping only to pay the toll, before he screeches around the corner and presses his foot on the gas. 

He doesn’t slow down until the streets look less and less _Detroit_ —sickly, malnourished—and more residential. 

His heart’s still drumming in his chest and his mouth feels like a desert, but he’s _safe_. 

José pulls into his driveway and the car shudders to a stop. After he kills the engine, he just sits there for a moment and tries to will his heart to stop trying to beat out of his chest. 

It doesn’t work.

Laughing, José pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings up Nick’s contact.

Nick  
  
¡¡¡¡¡¡Nicky!!!!!!  
  
had the weirdest drive home  
  
fell like someone come home with me lol  
  
but not in the sexy way  
  
in a weird way  
  
i dunno i just have a weird feeling tonight  
  
Like maybe someone watching me  
  
bro what  
  
i just feel li  
  
Jose?  
  
Iggy whats going on  
  
Bro u ok??  
  
If this is a joke Im gonna fuckin kill u  
  


***

José opens his eyes to a cool, dark room. The only source of light is the slivers of red that peek through cracked blinds. When he sits up slowly, a sharp pain zigzags through his skull like a lightning bolt, drawing tears to his eyes. José wilts back down on the mattress he was lying on and presses his hands over his face, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his skull.

It doesn’t help. The pain thuds in his skull to the beat of his heart. 

It’s then that José becomes aware of the presence of someone else in the room. 

He can hear their breathing, barely noticeable but _there_. The soft in-out-in-out and faint rustle of clothing as they shift and move across the room toward José. 

José wants to get up and defend himself but his _everything_ aches so badly he can barely lift his arm. 

“You’re awake. Good.”

The voice sounds familiar enough to give José the jolt of energy he needs to get to his feet.

The pain in his skull gets even worse. It feels bone-rattlingly _loud_ , jarring.

He puts up his fists.

“Who’s there?” he calls out, his voice betraying his fear as it cracks like he’s suddenly thirteen again.

There’s no answer. Only the shifting of the shadows surrounding them, dancing overhead, as if they have a mind of their own. Then the shadows congeal like blood, forming the shape of a person. A man. 

A tall, broad-shouldered man with eyes the bright electric shock of blue.

José backs away until he stumbles over the bed and lands on his back. 

He can’t stop staring at the shadowy figure in front of him. 

“J—James?” José stammers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, so loud he thinks James can probably hear it. 

James steps out of the shadows—or, rather, the shadows retreat to the corners of the room like frightened dogs terrified of their master.

James looks down at José, his fingers twitching at his sides. 

He looks almost _normal_ , if not for the shadows under his eyes or the sickly pall that drapes over him like a funeral shroud. 

James moves closer to the bed and José feels the sharp bite of panic digging into his skin. He knows he should get out of the bed and run, but he feels paralyzed either by fear or something else. Something poisonous that seeps through his veins. 

José scrambles back until his shoulders hit the wall.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” James says. 

The words are like tiny needles, piercing his brain. José squeezes his eyes shut and claws at his ears, trying to get the sound of his voice out of his head. 

James sighs and José feels the mattress dip as he sits down at the foot of the bed. 

He feels James’s hand close around his ankle and he opens his eyes. He’s holding his hand out to José, reaching for him, and José holds his arm out. 

James takes José gently by the wrist and holds up his finger. José watches, waiting, wondering. 

James traces his finger in José’s palm and then lifts his head, meeting his eyes. Those muddy blue eyes bore into him. 

José shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

James drags his finger across José’s palm, drawing what looks like a letter, and then another and another. 

_S-O-R-R-Y_.

José tilts his head at James and frowns, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

James traces more letters out on José’s palm. _V-O-I-C-E_. His finger moves over José’s palm some more. _C-A-N-T_. A pause. A slow intake of breath. _H-E-A-R_.

José thinks he gets it now. “It’s dangerous for you to talk to me?” José touches his ear. 

James nods eagerly, letting go of José’s hand. 

José shakes his head. “What happened?”

James grabs for José’s arm again and José flinches. James brushes his fingers gently over José’s wrist before he begins spelling out more words on José’s skin. _S-A-F-E. H-E-R-E._

José tries to pull his arm away but James tightens his fingers. “But what happ—”

James shakes his head, but he lets go of José’s arm. He gets off the bed and sweeps a hand over his shoulder. His shadow seems to detach from his skin and flutter away like the wings of a bat.

Then he looks back at José. Like that answers the thousands of questions currently beating against the inside of his skull. He grits his teeth and tries to will the ache to go away, but it persists. 

José must give himself away because James comes closer and touches his forehead gently. And just like that, the pain slowly dissipates, replaced with an enveloping warmth. José _does_ feel safe, wrapped up in the sanctuary of James’s very presence. 

He feels James’s breath brushing over the shell of his ear, and then he starts whispering. “I can talk to you like this,” he murmurs against José’s ear. “It’s not too loud then. But I forget sometimes.”

José shivers and squirms away, the hair standing up on his arms and the back of his neck. “What happened to you?” he asks, rubbing his arm.

James focuses those sharp blue eyes on him and something funny settles in the pit of José’s stomach. 

James leans in, a hand coming to rest lightly over José’s knee. “I can’t tell you,” he whispers. The words fall over José’s head like a heavy blanket. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

José frowns. “I… I don’t understand.”

James moves his hand away from José’s knee and twirls a finger in the air. Shadows gather over their heads, swirling until they come together in a funnel like a miniature tornado. He flicks his finger at José and the shadows race toward him. José lets out a startled cry and ducks, but the shadows dissipate before they can reach him. 

When José sits up, he realizes James is laughing soundlessly. José curls his hand into a fist and punches him in the thigh.

“Not funny.”

James lifts his hand in the air again and the shadows sweep in and crawl over him. Some of them take the shape of hands that caress over his arms and shoulders and brush their knuckles over his jawline. 

“Stop this,” José demands, clenching his hands in fists again. “Just. What’s going on? Why you bring me here? Why you knock me out?”

James snaps his fingers and the shadows quickly retreat. He’s all business now, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. 

“I didn’t knock you out,” he says quietly. “I found you and brought you back here. You’re safe here.”

“Safe from _what_?” José all but yells, his voice rising in pitch, the panic squeezing around him like a vise. 

James touches his knee again. “What got me is coming after you too,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I can keep you safe.”

José pushes at James’s hand. “If you gonna keep me safe, stop talking in riddles. Who’s after us?” José pauses. “Or _what_?”

“The shadows,” he says.

José looks up and around, but he doesn’t see any shadows. It’s like all the shadows fled when James snapped his fingers. 

It’s like they’re _afraid_ of James.

“Are you…” José falters, uncertain he wants the answer to this question. “Did you die? Are you—”

James laughs, startlingly loud, the sound piercing José’s eardrums. “What? Of course not,” he says, softening his tone. “I’m not dead. I’m just... _different_.”

James moves closer again and slides his hands over José’s cheeks, cupping his face gently. José feels his breath tracing damp fingers over the curves of his lips. 

“Did the shadows try to kill you? Will they try to kill _me_ too?” José asks.

“Yes,” James sighs against his lips.

“Can you really keep me safe?” José moves closer.

James brushes his lips against José’s, lightly, as his hand squeezes José’s knee. “Can you trust me?” 

José suddenly feels so impossibly heavy, like he’s been drugged. And, for a moment, he wonders if James has done something to him to make him feel this way. But a part of him—a very large, insistent part of him—doesn’t care. He’s a tangled knot of desire and shadows and chaos and he just _wants_. 

José reaches for James and the shadows flood in like a wave of water, sweeping over both of them. José doesn’t fear them, he doesn’t feel unsafe. With James, he does feel protected. He _does_ trust him. 

James lets José guide him back against the mattress and José settles on top of him, his hands resting on his chest, over his heart. He startles when he doesn’t feel James’s heartbeat thumping against his palms, but James strokes his fingertips lightly over José’s temple, brushing the hair away from his face, and then he forgets why he was startled in the first place. 

José ducks in and kisses James again, his fingers curling in the soft material of his shirt. 

He tastes like how José imagines shadows would taste. Thick and heavy on his tongue, but sweet, like molasses with the barest hint of smoke. 

One of James’s hands sweeps under the back of José’s shirt, his nails scratching lightly. José feels shadows streaming from his fingertips, swallowing him, wrapping around him like cool silk. The shadows are a part of James now, flowing over José’s overheated skin. 

“It’s okay,” James whispers. “They won’t hurt you.”

José’s fingers move quickly, popping the buttons on his shirt and pushing it open. There’s a faint red scar over his heart and José traces a fingertip down its length. 

It’s a fresh scar.

“James,” José murmurs. “What you not telling me?” 

James clasps his hand around José’s wrist, but he keeps his fingers loose. José could pull away if he wanted to.

“I was attacked,” James says, his voice a little louder than a whisper.

The sound throbs in José’s skull. 

“Someone did this to you.” José touches his chest again.

“Some _thing_ ,” James corrects, rubbing his thumb over José’s pulse. “It… It took my heart, José. I’m going to die without it.”

“What you doing here then? Let’s go find it,” José says, shoving at James. 

“There’s no point. It’s too well-guarded. I’ll never get my heart back,” James sighs. “I’d rather just spend my final hours with you.”

José frowns, the image in front of him growing distorted as tears blur his vision. He angrily swipes the tears out of his eyes. “Won’t let that happen,” he hisses through his teeth. “We’ll save you.” 

“You can’t, José,” James snaps.

José whimpers and presses his hands over his ears. The sound pounds into his skull like nails, drawing tears.

James sighs heavily. “I’m making it worse.”

José lowers his hands and looks around for a pen and a pad of paper. His eyes have adjusted to the dark. It’s not too bad. José thinks he could get used to it.

He finally finds a pen on the nightstand by the bed and he presses it into James’s hand.

“Write.” José holds his arm out to James. “What you wanna say to me. Write.”

James uncaps the pen and presses it against the soft skin of José’s arm.

José watches as letters form. The slivers of red light slat through the broken blinds, casting their patterns across the mattress and the empty space between José and James’s bodies. 

When James finishes writing and recaps the pen, José pulls his arm back.

_A creature made of shadows took my heart. Its venom got into my blood. I think I’m turning into one. But without my heart I’m gonna die anyway._

“Where did the creature go?” José asks.

James scribbles on José’s palm: _Not sure. But I feel a pull in my chest where my heart used to be. Like a magnet. I think I’m connected._

“You could lead us there?”

 _Yes._ Bold, black, inked over José’s wrist bone.

“Then let’s go.” José grabs for James’s hand. 

“No,” James whispers, jerking his hand away. “I’m not gonna put you in danger.”

“You say you can protect us,” José says, wrapping his hand around James’s wrist. “Then protect us. And I save your heart.” 

James sighs. It sounds like a thousand tortured, torturous voices braided into one. “I can’t promise that if you make me go to him,” he says.

“Is worth it,” José says. “To get your heart back.”

“It’s not worth your life,” James hisses.

“Not gonna let you die,” José insists. “Just keep us alive long enough for me to find your heart.”

James sighs again and twirls a finger in the air. Shadows swirl and dance around them, covering them in a canopy of darkness. The shadows are thick and cold, and the smell of rain is suddenly in the air. The hair on José’s arms stands up and static electricity crackles in his ears. 

“I can’t do much,” James admits, regretfully. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Is gonna be enough, you’ll see.” José darts in and presses a soft, gentle kiss against the corner of James’s mouth.

James turns his head and brushes his lips against José’s, lightly. “Okay,” he concedes.

José slips off the bed and James follows, an army of shadows trailing behind him. 

*** 

James leads them to the scene of the attack: a dark, damp alley not too far from the team’s parking structure. There are signs of a struggle in the evidence of claw marks gouged into the asphalt and drops of blood leading out of the alley and into the street. 

James climbs out of his truck and approaches a smear of dark blood on the sidewalk. He crouches down and touches it before lifting his hand and rubbing dried blood off his fingers.

José follows after James, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself. There’s something foreboding about the alley. Like they shouldn’t be here. All the sound has dropped away—the rumble of cars as they pass them by, faint shouts, police sirens—and the city should never be this quiet and it just all feels so _wrong_.

“What is it?” José asks.

James gets back to his feet and wipes his palm off on his pants. “Something about this is wrong,” he says. “I feel like… I feel like I’m leading you into danger. You should go back.”

“No,” José says. He strides forward and wraps a hand around James’s wrist. “Wherever you go, I’m coming too.”

James glances down at José’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “It’ll be dangerous,” he says. “I don’t want to get you hurt.”

“Not going into this blind,” José says, tightening his grip on James’s hand. “And… You don’t have to go alone. I come with you.”

James gently twists his wrist out of José’s grip and, for a moment, José thinks he’s going to rebuff him. But James laces his fingers with José’s and squeezes on his hand.

José feels something faint flutter against his fingers. It almost feels like a _heartbeat_.

Heat prickles José’s fingertips. 

“James,” José gasps. “You feel that too?”

James lifts José’s hand, turning it over as if he thinks he’ll find his heartbeat in José’s hand. “I did. I…” He trails off as the gentle beating fades into nothing. “It’s gone.”

“We’ll find it again,” José insists. He moves closer. “Where’s the pull in your chest telling you where we should go?” 

James lets go of José’s hand to slide his palms over his chest. “It’s not far. I can feel it,” he says. “But it’s like a mirror. A reflection of the original. And I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

José leans in and presses his cheek against James’s empty chest. He can hear the echoing thud too. James’s arms go around José’s shoulders carefully and they stand there, José listening to the sound of James’s stolen heart. 

Something strikes José then, like a fist upside the head, and he jerks back. James blinks at him, mouth gaping, confusion sparking in his bright blue eyes.

“What is it?” he asks. 

“Your heart,” José says, pressing his hands against James’s chest. “It didn’t _go_ anywhere. Anyplace.”

“But it’s gone,” James insists, grasping José by the wrists. “I can feel the hollowness.”

“Yes, I know, but…” José isn’t sure how to explain this in a way James will understand. But he’s going to try. “Your heart _is_ gone. But it’s also _not_.”

“I don’t understand,” James says, a little too loudly.

José winces and slaps his hands over his ears. “Please stop,” he whispers.

“José, I’m not…” James drops his voice to a whisper, but José still feels like his head is going to explode. James leans forward and tugs José’s hands away. His fingers brush against José’s temples, tenderly stroking his curls away from the sides of his face. 

José looks up at him through a haze of tears. James looks down at him, his sorrow etched in the lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

“James…” José’s head feels heavy and light at the same time, like it’s been stuffed with cotton. 

“I’m just hurting you,” James murmurs, drawing his hands away. “I should go.”

“No,” José says, grabbing onto his wrist. “Let me help—”

“I’m just causing you pain,” James says, tugging his wrist away. 

“I can take it,” José insists, reaching for James’s wrist again. He holds on tightly when James tries to pull away again. “Not afraid of a little pain, James.”

James look down at the back of José’s hand. He traces across José’s callused knuckles with his fingertip. “I wish you didn’t have to.”

“Me too,” José says, tugging his hand away from James’s arm to brush his fingers over his sandpapery cheek. “But we do this together. I can help.”

James leans in and kisses him softly, and José feels something light and fluttery beating against the inside of his ribcage. He’d always associated butterflies with his heartbeat, but this is something _more_. It feels like his heart has grown wings. 

James’s hands cup José’s face and his lips press in and in, soft and gentle, almost as if he _is_ afraid he might hurt José if he pushes for too much. José knots his fingers in James’s shirt and clings onto him, anchoring him. The fluttering is almost too much to take, an itch in his soul that he can’t quite reach to scratch. 

When James steps back and slides his hands away from José’s face, José blinks his eyes open. The world feels bright and new, bursting with life, and James shines like he’s been gilded with gold. José’s eyes fall on the vein in his neck, and how it almost looks like he has a pulse. 

José brings his hand up and touches James’s neck. He feels it then, the faint flicker. And then it fades into nothing. But it _was_ there. José _did_ feel it. 

“We so close, Jimmy,” José murmurs, tipping up on his toes to press a kiss against James’s jawline. “We get it back, I know we will.”

James laces his fingers with José’s and they walk back to his truck.

*** 

The pull in James’s chest takes them to the burnt-out shell of a hotel, right in the heart of downtown. The place is spooky, loud and cavernous, their footsteps echoing like gunshots as they let themselves in and stand and marvel in what had clearly been a grand lobby.

James keeps his hand wrapped tightly around José’s. 

“I don’t like this place,” he mutters, tugging José against his side. “It… It feels wrong.”

“I protect you.” José grins up at James and pokes him in the chest, playfully. 

James cracks a smile for the first time since this whole ordeal began. “You couldn’t protect anybody,” he teases. “You’re as harmless as a mouse.”

José laughs and bounces on the heels of his feet. “Mice are sneaky. They creep up on you when you don’t expect.”

James rolls his eyes and ducks his head, catching José’s lips in a warm kiss. 

James’s fingers are warm against José’s skin, and his lips are soft and warm. He doesn’t feel like a block of marble or like he’s been carved out of ice anymore. 

José feels like they really are getting closer, getting to the heart of the mystery.

“Let’s go explore,” José says, rubbing his hand over James’s chest. 

James looks up at the cracked stained glass ceiling, and José looks too. Bats flicker to and fro overhead, their wings flapping noisily, not unlike the fluttering in José’s heart. 

José takes James’s hand in his and squeezes gently, then the two of them venture deeper and deeper into the abandoned hotel lobby. 

The lobby is so big and empty, their footsteps echo loudly and José almost feels like there’s someone there with them, walking in step with them. But when he turns around, he just sees their shadows stretching out behind them across the cracked marble. 

James must feel José lagging behind him so he turns too. “What do you see?” he asks. 

His voice sounds amplified—it pierces José’s eardrums like needles—and José is tempted to jerk his hand away from James’s to cover his ears, but he just holds on tightly to his hand. 

Everything about James should send José running in the opposite direction right now, from his voice that’s like needles in José’s ears to the shadows that stalk him to the cavernous space in his chest where his heart once resided. But something inside José keeps him chained to James’s side. Something—perhaps a gentle voice whispering in his ear—tells him to hold tightly onto James and never let him go.

“Nothing,” José murmurs. “Just shadows.”

James brushes his fingers over José’s cheek. “It’s okay, José. You don’t have to stay,” he whispers, but even his whispers hurt now. “I can do this on my own.”

José’s skull throbs and his eyes water and he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and he knows James is right. He knows he could go back home and wash his hands of this. Of James. And, damn him, there’s a very tiny part of José that’s tempted to flee and run back to where it’s safe.

José slip his fingers around James’s wrist and presses his hand over his chest, so that James can feel his heart beating rapidly under his palm. 

“Feel that?” José asks. James nods slowly. “What you feel?”

“What do you mean?” James asks.

“You feel my heart?” José asks.

“Yeah,” James says, warily, “but I don’t…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing. “Your heart. It—it’s—”

“Two heartbeats,” José says, pressing James’s hand harder. “I think… I think they take you heart and put it in me.”

James shakes his head. “This’s impossible. It can’t… You can’t have…” He falters, leaving his hand over José’s chest. “I’ll die without it.”

“We looking in the wrong places for it,” José says. “Is been here the whole time. I just… I gotta give it back now.”

“How?” James rests his hands over José’s shoulders. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You might not have no choice,” José says, gazing up at James, meeting his eyes unwaveringly. “I got a knife in my glovebox. Swiss Army.”

“No,” James says, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m not cutting my heart out of your chest.”

“Then I no know how I’m gonna get it back to you,” José says, grabbing onto James’s hands and pulling them from his shoulders. “You gonna die without it. But maybe if you cut it out of me, we both be okay.”

“No, José, I ain’t doin’ that,” James snaps, squaring his jaw and gritting his teeth. “You’re just gonna have to come up with somethin’ else ’cause I ain’t gonna draw one drop of your blood. Not even for my heart.”

“Then you die. And you make me carry your heart,” José says, slapping his own hand over his chest. “What good’s that do anybody?”

James sigh and runs his hands through his hair. “What if you’re wrong, though? What if I cut my heart out of your chest and _you_ die?”

José frowns. “I guess I die.”

James drops his hands and lets out a frustrated noise that’s halfway between a sob and a growl. “That ain’t good enough. I ain’t takin’ that risk.”

José presses a hand over his chest and listens to the twin heartbeats thumping in his ears. What wicked creature had cursed James and José to this fate? Were they meant to be close enough to touch, close enough to share one another’s breath but doomed always to pass each other like ships in the night? 

José isn’t sure how this could have even happened. There were those few hours where he blacked out and woke up at James’s place, but James had already _changed_ then. His heart was already gone. 

José looks up at James, at the shadows that smear under his eyes and make him look pale and haunted. 

“How long your heart been missing?” José asks. 

James closes his eyes and sighs. “A few weeks, I guess. Why?”

José shakes his head. “I dunno. Is nothing,” he says, taking James’s hand back in his. “Where’s the feeling in your chest pulling you?”

James raises his head and looks around, as he chews on his bottom lip. “There.” He lifts his hand and points, and shadows flow from his fingertips like silk streamers.

They follow in the direction of James’s shadows, venturing deeper and deeper into the heart of the hotel.

*** 

José’s not sure how long they’ve been walking when James stops abruptly and his hand slips away. 

“What is it?” José asks.

“This is it,” he says. “It’s here. The thing that took my heart.”

José brushes his hand over his own chest. 

“What we gonna do?” José asks, sounding a little incredulous despite himself. “Beg him—beg _it_ to put your heart back in your chest?”

“It’s better than the alternative,” James snaps back.

José looks around for some hint as to who—what—they’re dealing with, but he doesn’t see anything. He’s not even really sure where they are. They hadn’t walked very far, but he doesn’t think they’re in the hotel anymore. Almost all of the light has been sucked out of the space surrounding them, but for faint splinters of moonlight peering in through the cracks in the stained glass ceiling.

But even that has changed. The cracks in the glass overhead pulse like arteries carrying blood away from the heart. When José touches his fingertips to his neck, he feels his pulse—and James’s—thumping in time with the pulse of the cracks that run through the glass. 

It’s like they’re standing in the center of James’s missing heart, watching the arteries pulse with blood. And are the walls vibrating to the beat of their hearts? 

José slides his hand over his chest almost protectively. He thinks about the Swiss Army knife sitting in his glovebox. He thinks about passing it to James and opening his shirt for him. 

But that’s not how this story is going to end, is it? 

No, José had been a gold-plated fool. He’s angry at himself, a little bit, for not seeing the answer until just now. It had been staring him in the face the whole time and he’d ignored it. Or maybe he hadn’t seen it because just didn’t realize what he was looking for. 

But now he knows.

“We’re inside your heart,” José says, lacing his fingers with James’s. 

“How? How is that even possible?” James asks.

“I dunno. But it is,” José says. 

James shakes his head, like he can’t quite buy into what José is telling him. But José can see the idea taking root despite himself. James looks around them, flicking his eyes up at the veins of gold pulsing over their heads, and the walls that throb in time with the hearts in José’s chest. 

José takes James’s hand in his.

“Whatever happens,” José says, leaning in and pressing his mouth against James’s shoulder. “Not afraid. Of your shadows or the pain. Or you.”

James wraps his hand around José’s. José senses the protest bubbling up inside him, but he manages to swallow it down. He draws in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before letting it go.

“You’ll stay with me?” James asks.

“Yeah,” José says. “We do it together or no do it at all.”

James nods at him, and then they both look over at the door that appears in the wall, opening toward them with a soft sigh.

James steps through it and José follows, their fingers linked loosely.

It’s impossibly dark. José can’t even make out James in front of him. The only thing he’s sure of is that he’s holding onto James’s hand. James’s hand in his is the only thing he trusts right now.

Long, bony tree branches tangle their fingers in José’s clothes and claw at his skin, as if trying to pull him back, but he wrenches free, never losing his grip on James’s hand.

He can make out a sliver of pulsing light ahead. 

James’s fingers tighten around José’s.

The light gets bigger and brighter, until it’s like they’re staring into the face of the sun. 

José squints and he’s tempted to shield his eyes with both his hands, but he doesn’t let go of James.

It feels like a test. This all feels like a test and José has no idea if he’s winning or losing.

“Where you think we at?” José asks.

“I’m not sure.” James pulls José after him and pushes forward.

They fall out through a doorway in a wild, unkempt hedge maze. Mist swirls around them, clinging to their skin, hanging in the air like haze. José looks around but all he sees are miles and miles of decaying hedge winding and winding in what looks like endless twists and loops. 

“No in Kansas anymore,” José quips.

James and José wander along winding trails, guided by the hedge, their hands still clasped loosely. The overgrown path seems to clear itself off for them, grass and stray twigs and leaves scattering out of the way as they walk. 

José doesn’t feel scared now, not with James’s hand fitting securely around his. He knows they’re so close to fixing everything. To getting James’s heart back into his chest.

James and José finally come to a dead end. The leaves are dense and thick, surrounding them and blocking out all light and sound. James lifts a hand and brushes aside some pale green leaves, pushing them aside to reveal a little wooden door. There’s a gleaming brass doorknob with a key sticking out of a lock.

James turns the key and the door clicks open. He and José make their way through, shutting the door behind them.

And—

They’re right back where they started, in the hotel lobby. 

“This some kinda joke?” José mutters, frowning, his dark brows knitting over his eyes in consternation. 

James frowns too. “There must be a reason, but…” He trails off, looking around, his eyes turning up to examine the gilded cracks in the glass ceiling.

“Is gonna be okay,” José murmurs. “We figure it out.” He leans in and brushes a gentle kiss against James’s shoulder.

James turns, pulling José against his chest, and pulls him close. Reaching out, James tips José’s chin up and slots their mouths together wetly. 

José rubs a hand in circles on James’s neck, knowing he needs the comfort right now more than he needs anything else. 

His lips are soft and warm, and his breath smells sweet. José presses against his chest and he thinks he can—

José feels James’s heartbeat, throbbing faintly. Not in his own chest but in James’s. 

“Do you feel that?” José asks. 

James slides his hands over José’s waist. “Yeah. I… I don’t understand. Did we fix it?”

José’s fingers fumble with the buttons of Jame’s shirt before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. He opens the button-down shirt and brushes his fingertips over James’s bare chest. The scar is gone.

James slides his hand over José’s, pressing it against his chest. 

“You got your heart back,” José murmurs, going for another kiss, feeling affectionate for some reason.

James leans in and splits the difference, kissing him again. “We both did.”

José slides his arms around James and holds onto him tightly, pushing his face against his neck. He can feel James’s heart beating under his mouth and when he parts his lips he tastes the salt of his skin.

*** 

The team ends up putting James back on the disabled list with _fatigue_ , and of course the whispers start. But José isn’t too worried, and he doesn’t think James is either. 

The shadows don’t chase after him like hungry ghosts, the way they once did. His heartbeat doesn’t fade out to nothing when José has his cheek pressed against James’s chest as he does right now.

José and James are lying together, watching some highlights show on MLB Network. José has a hand resting over James’s chest; he can’t seem to stop touching him, he’s always got to be touching him in some way. He tells himself he’s not afraid that one day James’s heart will come up missing, but it’s hard not to wonder sometimes. 

In quiet moments like this, José listens for James’s heartbeat just to reassure himself. 

James shifts underneath him, murmuring something José can’t make out. He lifts his head and James reaches out to rake his fingers through José’s tufty curls. 

“Hm?” José blinks owlishly at him.

“It’s nothin’. Thought you said somethin’,” James says, smiling fondly at him.

José lifts a hand and plants it in the center of James’s chest, pushing him back against the pillows. He straddles James’s hips and leans over him, his hand still resting over his heart. It beats wildly under his palm and slashes of pink stain James’s cheeks. 

José smiles and tugs James’s shirt over his head. 

“I’m saying something,” José teases. “You hear me now?”

James rests his hands over José’s hips. “Loud and clear.”

José laughs and reaches between their waists to undo James’s pants. “Good. We on the same page.”

Heat surges through José’s blood as he opens James’s jeans and scoots down a little to work them down his hips. Maybe it’s not a good thing he gets so worried sometimes that James might slip away that he needs _this_ —James’s skin sliding against his, his mouth on his, his tongue pushing against his own—to reassure him everything’s fine, but it is what it is. And as long as James is pinned underneath him, gasping and sighing in pleasure, his heartbeat thumping loud enough they can both hear it, José thinks he can live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. **If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.**


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